


we are so far in time

by curtwen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gabriel (Supernatural) Lives, M/M, Post-Season/Series 02, Post-Season/Series 13, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, because I can and I'm gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-01-22 18:57:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21306965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curtwen/pseuds/curtwen
Summary: Dean Winchester doesn't believe in angels. He's never seen one, and he's fairly certain he's seen it all by now, so when he's suddenly thrown eleven years into the future, where he and his brother are apparently good friends with two, it's more than a little shocking for the hunter.(But really, the angels aren't even the most important thing here.)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gabriel/Sam Winchester
Comments: 20
Kudos: 239





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> please read this first!
> 
> okay, so, for some background info:  
this dean is set right after the season 2 episode 'hollywood babylon.' so, his sam has not died yet, he's never met an angel, etc etc.  
he travels forward to about season 13 area. it's ambiguous because i hate s14 + s15 and im completely retconning all of that and then some. gabriel's just fine because I Said So, and so is jack because Fuck You.
> 
> ALSO, this concept is very largely based on the fic "not exactly where i need to be (and yet it seems so close)" by varnes! please check it out if youre an IT fan, its so so good
> 
> with all that aside, please enjoy!!

LA really wasn't so bad.

Sure, it had been weirdly cold and misty, but Dean liked it. Maybe moreso the _ people _ there, but regardless, it was a real fun place. Sam swore up and down he hadn't enjoyed it, but when you've been practically raising someone since you were a kid, you learn their tells.

They weren't sure where to go next, not yet, so they agreed to play it by ear and stopped for the night in a motel in east Nevada. Dean had flashed a nice smile and a fake credit card at the very bored-looking 40-something working the register and got the key for the room while Sam had already begun the trek upstairs to the even shittier second floor, so the older Winchester quickened his pace just a slight to catch up with him.

Dean sauntered into the room just before Sam closed the door, and he tossed his duffel over to the side of one of the beds. “Dibs,” he proclaimed, kicking off his shoes as he fell backwards onto the bed. Sam just rolled his eyes fondly, and he carefully set down his own duffel.

“You think they got pay-per-view here?” Dean asked as he reached for the remote, turning on the little TV on the dresser in front of them.

Sam snorted. “Porn? Maybe. But no, you’re not gonna watch porn while I’m here.”

“Wha - of course not, man! Just… when you’re not_ in_ here.”

A pillow was chucked at Dean’s face. The man cackled and tossed it back nonchalantly, getting himself comfortable under the blankets as the TV - on some kind of sitcom, he didn’t really pay attention - buzzed quietly in his ears. “‘Night, Sammy,” he said as he turned himself around in the bed, adjusting his pillow.

“‘Night, Dean,” he heard before slowly drifting off.  


-*-  


He did not wake up in the motel.

Dean could feel the sudden adrenaline shoving him upward, hand reaching underneath the pillow of the strange bed on impulse. He felt something cold and drew it out.

His gun.

That’s his gun.

Suspicious, Dean rose from the bed and cocked his gun, and he stared down his surroundings as if he could intimidate it. The room was kind of nice, if he were to be honest; he liked the decoration style. Homey.

The knives above the headboard made it feel a little less homey.

Dean paused before approaching the door, and for a moment he felt strange - his _ body _ felt off. Something just wasn’t clicking right. He kind of felt a little sore, even.

Whatever. He probably got beat up when he was taken to… wherever ‘here’ is.

Taking in a breath, Dean steeled himself and slowly opened the door, expecting something terrible, or maybe some wacko hallway. The reality was much more disappointing; normal-looking walls, with some normal lights that were definitely not flickering or broken.

Dean took a step out into the hall tentatively, like he was testing the ground. Nothing happened. The hunter squinted for a moment, perplexed by the overwhelming sense of _ normalcy _. Sure, the architecture was weird, but it just felt like a normal place.

His grip on the gun didn't loosen, though.

Continuing further, Dean glanced around the hallway, and for a moment he wondered if he was in some live-in hospital. There were a few more turns and some stairs before he finally walked out into what seemed to be a living space. Just like the hallway, it felt normal, despite looking… well, it was just odd.

Slowly, he moved around the room, inspecting any and everything he saw. It was actually kinda bare, really, but the library (does that count as a library?) had a long dining table with an open book and a half-drank shot sat upon it. Dean walked over to it and stared at the glass. Definitely fresh alcohol. Probably whiskey.

...This isn't his proudest moment. He's not proud of this.

He took a quick swig from the shot glass before he paused. That definitely hit different.

“Dean?”

The hunter whipped around, both hands on his gun, one finger poised on the trigger. Then, they met eyes, and Dean’s widened with utter shock as his hands dropped down to his sides.

“_Sam? _”

Sam gave him a quizzical look, eyeing him up and down. “...Uh, yeah, dude. Are - are you drunk?”

Dean was too busy staring at Sam’s face to respond. _ What the hell? _ He had… is that a _ beard? _ Does he have a beard? When did he get so… large? He could’ve sworn Sam did _ not _ have all those muscles. After all, Dean is the cool and ripped brother. _ Dean _ is.

So what the fuck is happening here?

“Okay, yep, you’re drunk. Dean, put down the gun. You should get some water,” Sam instructs him, and his voice is _ deeper, _ and more mature, and even though it overall sounds the same, it’s not. Dean feels himself slowly shaking his head, and Sam makes an irritated face at him so there’s no way that’s _ not _ Sam because it’s such a _ Sam _ thing to do but _ that can’t be Sam. _

“What the fuck is this, huh? What kinda monster are you? Is this - is this Meg? Huh? Couldn’t get enough stringin’ up Jo, you gotta take another shot?” When Dean hears himself speak, it’s like listening underwater. His voice isn’t right, but he knows that’s his, unmistakably, and he’s talking, but all of this is so fucked up.

“Sam”’s face contorts into one of confusion, and he takes a cautious step forward. Dean’s grip on the gun tightens.

“Meg? Jo? Dean, what… what do you remember last?”

“Hey, I asked you first,” Dean insists, and he hopes his face doesn’t give away his utter panic.

In front of him, “Sam” looks exasperated, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Fine. Dean, I am not a monster or a demon or anything, okay? I’m not - I’m not _ Meg, _ of all people. What do you remember?”

Dean doesn’t really trust it; demons always screw with their heads, after all. But Sam’s his little brother, who he raised for a solid eighteen years and has seen again for another two, and if he didn’t know all the kid’s behaviors by now he’d just be a shitty brother. He’s the only one who could manage to perfectly duplicate Sam like this, his garbage acting skills aside. So…

So this is just some weird ass old-looking Sam, who’s definitely not the Sam he knows, but it definitely _ is _ him. Whatever.

“Last thing is we holed up in a shit motel in Nevada after working a hunt in LA. It was a - a ghost. It was on that crappy horror movie with Tara Benchley.”

Dean can feel himself panic slightly purely due to Sam’s expression.

“I - are you serious? That - that - that shitty horror flick with the… the... what was it again? There was like, a fake at first, right? Wasn’t that 2006?” Sam stumbles over his words, and he uses his hands rapidly as he speaks.

Dean’s throat felt dry. “Yeah. It’s 2006.”

“Shit…” Sam put one hand on his forehead, looking just as distressed as Dean feels. “God damn. Dean… It - I - it’s 2017. It’s - Dean, it’s been eleven _ years. _”

“No. No, you're full of shit,” Dean denied, because all he could do to hide from this fucking weirdo truth was with denial.

Sam shook his head, grimaced, and exhaled. “Come _ on, _ Dean, look around you. Look at all this. Look at _ me. _ How could this be a lie, huh? I mean, seriously, time travel - it's not that much of a stretch for us and you _ know _ that.”

God damn it. Sam never lost his touch at proving him wrong in the most irritating way possible.

“Sam, Dean?” An entirely unfamiliar voice sounded out from the hall and Dean could hear footsteps steadily approaching.

“Who is that?” he asked Sam quietly, but his brother didn’t answer, instead looking mildly uncomfortable. After a moment, the owner of the voice appeared, and Dean was slightly taken aback. He’d literally never seen this guy in his life. But apparently Future Dean knew him, because he looked over at Dean and smiled slightly. _ What the fuck? _

The new guy’s hands were in the pockets of his faded tan trenchcoat, and he had on what looked like a suit underneath with a blue tie that looked like he hadn’t even tried when putting it on. His face was tired, and he had stubble similar to Sam’s, but his eyes were a pale blue and oddly _ bright. _

Fucking hell, Dean thought he’d repressed this shit already.

“Cas,” Sam spoke up, clapping his hands as he nervously looked over at the stranger. “So, um, we - we, uh… There’s a problem. With Dean.”

That guy, Cas, suddenly looked slightly worried, but also… was that anger? Irritation? He couldn’t really discern it. “What’s the problem?”

God _ damn _ how was his voice that… gravelly?

Sam pursed his lips and shuffled on his feet, appearing very uncomfortable, before explaining, “This isn’t… our Dean. It’s - he time traveled. He’s from 2006.”

Cas’ eyes widened and he looked back at Dean, then at Sam, and his face kept that somber expression. “How? What does he remember? Do you think it was an angel?”

“I’m sorry, a what now?” Dean cut in.

Sam’s face drooped and suddenly he looked even older as he whispered to Cas, “He doesn’t know yet. That was in 2008.”

The older (could he still say that? right here?) Winchester’s irritation grew and he snapped, “Is anyone going to fucking talk to _ me _ about what happened to me? I - I mean, I’m _ right here. _”

His point got across, and the two men in front of him slowly nodded. Sam spoke up first, “Dean, there’s… um. Honestly, I don’t think you should know about this yet, but, well… Listen, I know you’re not gonna believe me, ‘cuz you never really did before anyway, but angels are - are real.”

_ Angels. _

Seriously.

Dean’s thoughts apparently translated to his facial muscles, because Sam fixated him with a matching look. “Stop it, I know what you’re thinking, okay?” He sighs, shifts on his feet, and nudges Cas. “Can you - you know, do something?” he says quietly, and Dean’s suddenly concerned because _ who is this guy? _

Cas nods, and his eyes meet Dean’s, and suddenly the lights in the room flickered and went out as Cas’ eyes glowed brightly, the silhouette of skeletal wings with very light feathering spreading out across the walls. 

_ Wings. Dude has wings. _

Then, reality hit him, and the hand with the gun rose into the air quickly. _ He’s a monster. _ His finger settles on the trigger and he almost pulls it, almost shoots, when the gun flies out of his hand and ricochets against the bookshelves. The lights begin to flicker on again, and the winged silhouette disappears. Cas’ eyes return to normal and his expression is a mixture of anger and sadness, but also _ confusion. _

...Not at him, he realizes quickly. Cas… isn’t the one who threw the gun out of his hands.

There’s another.

“Dean, what the fuck was that? Dude, I know you’ve still got your own head up your ass for Dad right now, but seriously, _ what _ the hell?” Sam busts a fuse, and his body moves with his words, but Dean doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter what Sam thinks, right now, ‘cuz he’s apparently butt-buddies with _ another monster, _ so if anyone’s gonna help him out it’s gonna be Dean.

“Wow. Didn’t know you guys had _ that _ bad of a breakup.”

There’s another unfamiliar voice, and another unfamiliar man sauntered into the room like he owns the place.

Wait a minute. _ Wait a fucking - _

“Sam, are you actually shitting me right now? Is this some kind of - of prank?” Dean sputtered, pointing desperately at the new arrival. “It’s the Trickster, dude! I thought I ganked the guy…”

The Trickster’s eyes widened a little and he laughed, nudging Sam in the side. “Aw, Big Bear finally lose it?”

Sam batted his arm away and replied with a hiss, “Not the _ time, _ Gabe. This is Dean from ‘06.”

“_Gabe?_” Dean asked incredulously. “What, you give him a name now? So I _ wasn’t _ imagining those fuckin’ bedroom eyes at the college-” He is abruptly shut up by a book to the face.

“God, I don’t know whether you were more annoying in your twenties or your thirties,” Sam growled, rubbing a thumb over his temple in exasperation. Beside him, the Trickster laughs, like the whole thing is hysterically funny. “No, no, I want to hear him speak. What about those bedroom eyes, Sammy?”

_ What. _

Dean recovered from the book to the head in time to glare at the Trickster, hopefully threateningly considering his previous ordeal. “You don’t get to call him that. That’s _ my _thing.”

Sam’s breath caught in his throat and he coughed, pointedly looking away from Dean.

“...Sam?”

He looked over at Dean like a deer in the headlights, fist still raised near his face. “What?”

“Sam, that _ is _ just my thing, right? I mean - I mean, dude, this is - it’s the _ Trickster, _ Sam. He’s a - a - a bloodthirsty, violent _ monster_, and you wanna be MySpace friends with him?”

Sam just cocks his head like he’s confused, whereas the Trickster gasps dramatically and puts a hand over his chest. “I am wounded, Winchester. Deeply. You think I still use MySpace?”

Now it’s Dean’s turn to look confused, and he turns back to Sam, who shakes his head. “Dean, obviously you won’t understand any of this because you’re still - still painstakingly convinced that everything non-human is evil and needs to be destroyed, thanks to Dad, but a lot has changed. Okay? It’s not - it’s just not all black and white. Not every monster is out for blood.”

Dean squirmed under his brother’s intense gaze, because on one hand Sam was probably right and if you think about it there’s a very low chance that _ every _ vamp feeds on people, or that _ every _ werewolf kills at night. But in a part of his brain, the part that’s still painfully devoted to his father, the part that’s still a terrified kid who his dad told “a monster killed your mother,” well - it’s having a hard time seeing the appeal.

“Sammy… I…” He stopped, put a hand up to his cheek, over his mouth, and exhaled slowly before dropping it back down. “Okay. I believe you. This is all so… so fucking crazy, but… you’re my brother. So - so yeah. Lay it on me, man, what’s up with the, uh, the new gang here?” Dean’s voice was a little strained, and his smile was fake (that’s not unusual) but he wasn’t ingenuine. If Sam believed this deeply about something… well, just seeing Sam looking like he has some _ control _ over his life for once even whilst being a hunter, that convinces him all on its own.

Sam smiled at him, all thankful and for some reason _ really sad, _ and Dean doesn’t have much time to ponder why before he starts speaking again. “Right. So, this -” he pointed towards Cas, “is Castiel. Cas. We’ve known him for… what, nine years? Yeah, that’s about right. He’s an angel, a - a seraph. He’s… well, he saved our asses a lot.” Castiel, Cas, the angel, didn’t seem to react much to the praise, instead staring intently at Dean, and the hunter didn’t really understand what’s going on with that but he smiled nonchalantly at him regardless. It’s worth it seeing the angel’s face suddenly change into surprise, though.

Sam shifted a little and Dean moved his eyes with him, hesitantly watching the Trickster. He’s looking at him now, _ actually _ looking, and realizes just how fake that casual, confident persona from just a moment ago was. His hands had a little bit of a shake to them, and his body was scrunched up a little too close to be normal, and he appeared almost closed in on himself. It’s a classic technique to make yourself seem small. Defense.

“This… this is Gabriel. The archangel. He, uh, he pretended to be a trickster for a long time, laying low because his brothers, Michael and… and Lucifer, were battling it out up above. He was never, uh… he didn’t hang around as much as Cas did, but he’s still, you know, we’re all close. He’s a good guy.” Sam’s explanation is a little choppy and nervous, and he met eyes with Gabriel almost every sentence, dipping his head ever so slightly as he spoke as if to ask permission to say what he did.

Dean assumed there’s a story there they aren’t gonna tell him, but it also looked like one covered in barbed wire, so he doesn’t pry.

Instead, he pushed down his confusion, and he deflects. “Okay, well, now that we’re all good and acquainted, what are we gonna do about… well, me? I’m not exactly lookin’ to stay here forever.” He met Sam’s eyes, his brother just appearing kind of pained and sad, and he continued, his tone more serious. “I know… I know you’re Sam. But you aren’t my Sam, and that’s the one I need to get back to. So… uh. Either of you know how to zap me back?” His question was directed toward the two angels, and Gabriel stiffened slightly, Cas nodding.

Cas opened his mouth to speak, but Gabriel’s hand rose in a ‘stop’ motion and he paused, meeting eyes with the other angel. Gabriel pushed himself off the wall he’d been leaning on and crossed his arms back, looking a bit uncomfortable. “It’s not that easy. Cassie here isn’t the greatest on his grace reserves, and… well, right now I’m not much better. Anyway, even if we did have the juice to get you back, we don’t know how or why you got here. So until we figure that out, it looks like you’re stuck in good ol’ twenty-seventeen.” He carefully fell back against the wall after concluding his mini speech, shoulders hunching slightly.

It was too much. All of it - it was all just _ too much. _

Dean’s hands trembled a little and he shook his head, bringing one hand up to cover his eyes. “No way. No _ fucking way. _ Of course I - of course this has to happen. And I - I can’t -” He stopped, breathed in, and lowered his hand to his side. He refused to look at Sam as he continued, “In my time. Who… who’s going to take care of Sam while I’m… here? Who’s gonna… What’s he gonna _ do _ when he sees I vanished?” Dean’s voice was already faltering, but it dropped to a low whisper. “What’s he gonna _ think? _”

He heard Sam take in a breath in front of him, saw his feet shuffle in distress. Of course Sam wasn’t taking his talk well. This is _ Sam, _ and of course he’s gonna be upset even if he’s not His Dean because that’s just who he is. That’s how they’ve always been.

“Dean. We’re - we’re gonna figure something out, okay?” His brother’s voice hitched and shook just like his own, and God if that didn’t _ hurt_. “And… and - and even if it takes us a long time, here, we’ll get you back, right where you left off. I promise.”

His head still spun, but he nodded slowly, finally looking up at his brother’s way-too-old face. Dean didn’t trust this new environment, he didn’t trust the angels, not yet, but if he trusted anyone, it’d be Sam. Even if this Sam is old and tired and had this weirdly sad look every time they met eyes, he’s still his brother. He’s still _ Sam. _

“Okay. I believe you, Sammy.”  


-*-

  
Somewhere in Nevada, eleven years prior (or the next day, or that morning), Dean wakes up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has seen it all by now. Really, he's convinced he has. Late-thirties with decades of hunting under his belt, he's pretty confident in himself and his abilities.
> 
> Then, he wakes up, and suddenly nothing is right.

_ Something is wrong. _

Dean opened his eyes and pushed himself up, staring in surprise at the motel room he appeared to be in. Definitely weird. Dean tried to recall the night before; maybe he’d gotten drunk and run off, something not too unlike him. He slowly glanced over to the other side of the bed he was in and noted it was empty. _ So not that. _

The hunter swung his legs over the side of the bed, reaching a hand up to rub at his forehead. He stopped short, staring at his arm in suspicion as he slowly moved it down to rest on his thigh. It looked… different. Why would his arm look different?

Maybe he really did get drunk. Or he still was. That’d explain the lack of a hangover.

Dean shook his head and looked up, finally noticing the other bed in the room. 

The other bed with someone in it. 

Now fully alert, Dean quietly reached back to the pillow. He might not remember coming here, but he’d never sleep somewhere like this without -

His hand settled around the grip of his gun and he drew it out, cocking it as quietly as possible. The figure on the bed shifted at the noise, groaned, and Dean watched carefully. Blankets moved around with them, and finally a hand rose up and shoved the comforter back, away from their face.

Dean felt his stomach drop. “_Sam? _”

“Huh? Uh, yeah, what's… what's up, Dean?” he asked groggily, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Dean quickly moved the gun to his back pocket, putting the safety on. All he could really do was stare. Sam looked so… _ young. _ His face was clean-shaven, hardly even boasting any stubble, and his hair was still kind of short. When he looked at him, it wasn’t with sadness or apprehension. Dean swallowed down how much that ached.

He realized he needed to actually respond, and quickly managed to speak, “I - uh - it’s… it’s nothing, Sammy. It’s - you just get some more shut-eye, alright?” Dean smiled, hoping it appeared as easy-going as he attempted, and Sam just shot him a quizzical look before mumbling “okay” and rolling back over. He stared after him for a moment longer before briskly moving towards the bathroom, shutting the door behind him as he flicked on the lightswitch.

_ No. Oh, God, no, what the fuck? _

Dean slowly moved a hand up to touch his face - his young, clean, rested face - and gaped at the mirror. _ He _looked young. Someone - or something - must have sent him back in time. That begs the question, though; who?

Naturally, his first (hopeful) guess was Gabriel. It’d make sense he’d pull something dumb like this. But Gabe’s not at his full power, probably not even enough to do time travel (or a pocket dimension?) so it’s probably not him. And it definitely wasn’t Cas.

So it’s something fucked up that wants him to suffer. Honestly, not very different from any other day.

He’d probably been in the bathroom too long by now, and Sam probably woke up for real, but he wasn’t really thinking about it. Instead, he racked his brain to think of _ some _ possible explanation, some perpetrator. Maybe it was a run-in with some witches, the powerful ones, and they zapped him back. Maybe it was some other evil angel they pissed off. A messed up spell? Really, the most confusing part of all of it was the fact that he couldn’t remember a reason. Like, he went to bed the night before just like normal, and then he woke up here. Nothing had happened. The hunt the day before had just been another salt-and-burn, it wasn’t even something that could’ve tagged along to later enact revenge by sending him back to… well, he’s not sure when, but his best guess was before 2010. They both look really young, and are apparently on good terms, so it’s definitely earlier.

It hurt a lot, honestly, thinking about time in terms of whether or not he and his brother were okay with each other. Mostly his own fault, but he was still sad about it.

Done with staring down his younger self, Dean quickly splashed water on his face, dried it, and then left the bathroom. As expected, Sam was awake again, tugging on his shoes. Sam looked over at him - young, oblivious Sam - and he smirked a little bit before teasing, “You feel better?”

For a moment Dean forgot how to speak, and he blinked at Sam, whose expression began to change, so Dean quickly opened his mouth and stuttered out, “Y-Yeah. Yeah. Feelin’ great. Feelin’ - yeah, good.” He forced a grin, to which Sam just appeared kind of uncomfortable and worried. Dean moved around him, patting his shoulder as he did, and he found his old duffel bag on the floor. He had no idea how to look through this to check what’s in it without alerting Sam. Was that necessary? Did he need to be cautious about it?

“Hey. Are you sure you’re feeling okay, Dean?” Sam asked, turning to meet his eyes. Then they twinkled, and he added, “Still hung up on Tara?”

Tara? ...Tara… Benchley? Wasn’t he obsessed with her in…

  1. Two thousand six. ‘06. He was in 2006.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Unfortunately, he didn’t hide his confusion well enough, and Sam latched on to it, ‘cause he only left Stanford like a year ago and he was still sharp as a tack with all his stupid lawyer training. “Dean? You… are you okay? You seem really out of it today, did - are you hungover?”

“I’m fine. I’m _ fine. _ I’m not hungover, okay, just… Just had a weird fuckin’ dream. ‘S’all.” Dean found it a lot easier to lie now. It was a flimsy defense, but he spoke it confidently, so there was nothing Sam could really do. He held Dean’s gaze a moment longer, searching, before his eyes dropped, and he nodded and turned back around.

Dean leafed through the duffel and toed on his shoes, making sure he was well-versed in the bag’s contents. Seemed like the typical shit he’d take with him on long-distance, overnight hunts, particularly for the times. His phone - Jesus Christ, his _ phone _ \- was in there, too. He forgot he’d owned a Blackberry at the time. Probably not for too long, all things considered, but regardless… It was a trip, seeing that relic of a cellphone. All of it was. All of it was fucked.

Not the time.

He shook his head and zipped up the bag, tossing it over on to his bed. He still had no idea what they were supposed to do next, or what _ he _ was going to do, all things considered. Dean could barely remember the specific hunts from the past week, much less ones over a decade ago. He didn’t even know how long he was going to be stuck back here.

Luckily, he was saved from his thoughts. “So,” Sam began, “Caught wind of something nearby. Two people were killed in ‘mysterious locked-room murder’ in a family home. Only survivor was a five-year-old kid, who, you guessed it, was locked out of the room. The couple both had stab wounds in the same spots, blood on the same hands. And, get this, happened in a place called _ Jackpot. _ It’s about two hours from here.” Sam looked a little excited as he spoke, particularly when relaying the more notable details, but Dean could only really find himself nodding along. He didn’t remember this hunt at all, but what Sam described sounded familiar, so he was certain that he’d been through it all before.

“Okay. So, what are we thinkin’? Ghost?” He almost said demon, but he remembered how sore a topic demons were at this time, and thought it best to just not mention it.

“Possibly. I looked into some other death records in the town, you know, see if there are any suspects or similarities. Turns out, a case just like this one happened twenty years ago. Couple dies in their bedroom, their kid survives scot-free. And the kicker? It was in the same house. After the couple’s death, the house was put up for sale, and it wasn’t touched until a couple months ago, when our dearly departed moved in.”

“Looks like a typical haunting, then,” Dean confirmed, to which Sam nodded.

“Sounds good. Let’s get a move on, then. To Jackpot.” The two stood, and Dean smiled, but his heart wasn’t in it. Everything felt strange and terrible. His body was moving, but it felt like it was on autopilot, and he was just watching from afar. He kind of wished that _ was _ the case, that he was just spectating his past rather than actually fucking reliving it.

Sam stared at him suspiciously when he told him he could drive.

“You’re serious? Maybe you really are sick. Do we need to stop at a - a CVS or something?” Sam questioned, eyes narrowed.

“Do you want to drive or not?”

The younger Winchester relented, sitting in the driver’s seat. Dean quickly joined him.

“You know, with all this talk, I’m kind of surprised you haven’t tested me for shit yet. I mean, really - no holy water to the face, no silver blade, nothing?” Dean looked over at Sam as he started the ignition, pulling them out of the parking spot.

He didn’t look over as he spoke. “Didn’t need to. Devil’s trap underneath the bathroom carpet. You always go straight there after waking up, anyway. You might be acting weird as hell, but I can’t think of any reason other than your own problems.”

Yowch. Sammy’s always gotta hit it where it hurts. “Oh. Alright.” He doesn’t really know what else to say to that. And right now, he’s not keen on telling Sam he somehow traveled back over a decade in time. Not yet.

The rest of the drive is fairly quiet. It’s only a solid hour and a half with Sam’s driving, which is absolutely nothing compared to their normal travel times. It does give Dean some time to think, though. He realized it in the last thirty minute stretch.

He can _ pray_. They might not have met angels yet, so he can’t tell Sam, but they’re still _ out there. _ All of them, actually. None have died yet to their meddling.

Sure, they won’t have that familiarity (maybe a good thing for some), and they’ll probably still have major stick-ass syndrome, but they’re _ there, _ and that’s what matters. Cas is there.

_ Should _he contact Cas?

This Cas - 2006 Cas - won’t know them. He won’t have any reason to. He hadn’t even “raised Dean from perdition” yet. He’s still being brainwashed by Heaven’s elites, molded into a toy soldier. Quite frankly, he’s more likely to try and kill them than do much to help, especially if the reason Dean is back here is demonic or something.

Then, it hit him.

There’s one other angel who’s fairly strong and isn’t wrapped around Heaven’s finger. One other angel with free will who has a greater chance of helping than harming.

Gabriel.

He has to get Gabriel.

The hunt is pushed to the very back of his mind as he starts to think of ways to get him to come, carefully structuring his thoughts so as not to accidentally start his prayer right then. He’d need to keep Sam away for the time being. Until he has a good grip on what’s going on, or at least a _ better _ grip, he just can’t tell Sam about this.

It hurts, and he knows old habits die hard, but he thinks he’s in the right on this one.

They checked in to the motel in Jackpot a good twenty minutes later, and once they set all their stuff inside and get adjusted, Dean tells Sam he needs some fresh air, because he’s still not feeling right and maybe he will go to CVS but you hold down the fort.

It’s an excuse that let him drive a little ways away without making Sam suspicious.

Not far off, he found a building that looked fairly abandoned, at least right then. It looked like one of those illegal firework shops, but right now, there’d be no use selling, so it should be clear.

His suspicion was correct.

Dean lamented at the lack of holy oil, knowing he couldn’t really keep Gabriel here without it, but hopefully the guy will be up to talking. (He remembered their first meeting at the college, and he’s certain that’s already happened in this timeline, but maybe Gabe won’t hold a grudge.)

Setting up the ritual was easy. He already had the symbols memorized from previous usage, and the ingredients were simple things, stuff he already had. Some of it wasn’t proper, but he knew Gabriel. The guy wasn’t as stuffy as Raphael or Michael. He wouldn't care.

Dean knew that technically the line of Enochian was all that was necessary, but just in case, he prayed afterward, too. “Archangel Gabriel, I pray thee, uh… This is important. I know you’re there. It’s Dean Winchester. I just want to talk, seriously.” He paused. “...Amen?”

After a couple minutes passed, he kind of assumed something fucked up. Either the ritual didn’t work, or maybe Gabe didn’t hear him, or maybe he ignored him. The latter kind of stung, if he were completely honest, but it’s not like it would be for no reason. Especially not right now, when, very recently for this version of Gabriel, Dean had just tried to kill him, _ and _ had still thought of him as just ‘the Trickster.’

But after another moment, the lights in the building flickered, cracked, and popped, and he heard loud wingbeats, looking forward to see Gabriel glaring right back at him.

“So you got my call.”

“So _ you _ know who I am. How?” Gabriel questioned, his tone lacking the typical levity he held, but he inspected him further, staring (probably literally) into his soul, and his eyes widened. “...I see. You gonna tell me my fortune, Dean-o?”

That was just freaky. He can tell what _ time _ he’s from just by looking. It’s no wonder Lucifer always seemed to know everything about them and their plans. Archangels, seriously.

“No. I need your help.”

“I can guess why. So, McFly, I’m guessing you aren’t here by your own accord?” Gabriel asked, raising an eyebrow. Dean almost forgot when he was this cocky. Self-assured. When he didn’t look over his shoulder any time someone sneezed.

“That’s why I called you. I don’t know why I’m here, or what happened. I went to sleep in my time, and when I woke up…” Dean crossed his arms. “Can you fix it?”

Gabriel put a hand to his chin as Dean spoke, moving it as though he was stroking a beard, and he nodded in thought. “Hm… no. Not until I know what sent you back, and what happened to this version of you.”

“...What happened? What do you mean?”

He never even considered it.

Not until Gabriel said it.

“What do you think happened? You appear in the body of your younger self, and he’s just… what, gone? Moved to the side? He had to go _ somewhere. _”

It struck him, then, that he had no fucking idea. Or, he did, but it’s one he really did not like. Because if 2006 Dean was still out there somewhere, then the only reasonable place he had to go… was him. His body. 2017. They swapped places. His younger, dumber self was - will be? - wearing his skin, and he’s stuck here.

_ Fuck. _

“He’s in my body now, isn’t he? In the future.” Dean asked, but it wasn’t really a question considering he knew the answer. Gabriel nodded, slowly.

“Only place he can be.”

Dean rubbed a hand over his face, his temples, and exhaled. “Of course. Of _ course _ he is. He gets to be with a Sam who _ knows _ things, and Cas, and -” He stopped himself. This Gabriel doesn’t know. He shouldn’t know too much about the future.

Should he?

The realization sank in, then. Fates be damned, maybe… maybe he really could _ fix _ a lot of things. He could save even more people.

He could save the angel right in front of him from torture he’s yet to know.

Even if Young Dean was in the future, his future, maybe that won’t matter. Maybe none of it would matter if he could fix things. A second try on his piss-poor life. It could be worth a shot. After all, they haven’t even seen their first apocalypse. 

“Hey, I can see those gears turning, and I don't trust it. Dean, what are you thinking? Don’t tell me you’re gonna try and change the past, that never works well.”

“It only fucked up for Balthazar.” Dean knew Gabriel wouldn’t understand that. His time’s Gabe probably wouldn’t even get it. “But I can do it better. I can be patient.”

“Dean.”

He started to back up, waving dismissively. “Thanks for your help, Gabe, but you know, I think I can handle it now. I got it all under control.”

Gabriel stared back at him furiously, and before Dean could reach the door, it flew shut and locked. “I’m not going to let you fuck with your timeline, Dean. I can’t do that. You don't know the consequences!”

Dean snorted. “Rich, coming from you. The rebel archangel. I thought you didn’t care.” That’s a lie. He knew Gabriel cared, and how, and for whom. _ Especially _ the latter.

“I _ don’t care _ about my brothers’ petty fights. I _ don’t care _ about the ass-kissers in Heaven. I _ do _ care about what happens to this planet and the people on it, and I know that messing with time, no matter how shitty things are, is never a good idea. Dean. You know I’m right.”

Dean looked back at him and for a moment they stared at each other challengingly, but as Dean figured that the archangel wouldn't budge, he sighed. “Okay. Fine. You win. _ But, _ I still need your help. You still need to get me back to my time, and - and get Young Dean back to his. Okay?”

For a moment Gabriel was silent, arms still crossed.

“_Okay? _”

“Okay! Yeah! I'll help,” he grumbled. The door opened, then, and Dean glanced at it, then back at Gabriel. “I gotta go back to Sam - uh, this Sam. I haven't told him about any of this.”

“What? Why?” Gabriel interjected, and Dean felt his frustration grow.

“_Because. _ I don't want him to fucking freak, and if he doesn't know…” _ It'd be easier to fix things. Right? _

“And he doesn't know you're here, either,” the angel guessed, and his suspicion was confirmed by Dean's lack of a reply. “That’s just _ peachy._”

Dean affixed him with a glare. “Can you shut up for _ one _ second? Please?”

“Sorry, Dean-o, no can do. You want my help? You get the whole package.” Gabriel returned his glare with an absolutely shit-eating grin.

Fuck’s sake. He was easier to deal with when he’d fucking hide from loud noises, Dean thought, then immediately felt a pang of guilt. He went through some _ shit _ to become more “tolerable,” the same things he’d just resolved to try and stop.

“Whatever. Can you just… try and find out what happened somehow? Just… you know what, call me when you find something. I’m sure you can use your grace to do that,” Dean instructed, one hand raising up to hold the door as he readied to leave.

Gabriel examined him for a moment, expression unreadable, before he nodded and spoke, “Yep. Will do. Catch ya later.” There was the sound of wings flapping in the air, and he vanished. Dean paused, staring at the empty spot Gabriel stood previously, then bowed his head and left.

When he turned on the car radio, it was playing Asia.

The ride back, his head swirled with thoughts and concerns and theories. Ultimately, as he pulled the Impala back into park at the motel, he’d gained no ground, nor come up with any new ideas. Suffice to say, he’d accomplished nothing on his own, and the dead end irritated him. As he opened the motel door, Sam looked up, eyebrows raising. “That took you a while,” he commented, setting down the book he’d been reading prior.

Dean sat down on his bed, falling back to rest on it. “Yeah,” he muttered, bending one arm back behind his head. He stared blankly at the ceiling, already tired of thinking about what happened to him. He just needed rest.

He could feel Sam’s gaze on him, and knowing his brother, he was dying to say something, so Dean spoke up, “Go ahead.”

“Oh. Um,” Sam stuttered a little before finding his words. “Dean, you know… You know you can talk to me, right? Like, if - if there’s something… bothering you. You can tell me.” He sounded a little nervous, hesitant, but not uncertain. He meant what he said.

But, regardless… he had no idea the scope of Dean’s problem. He doesn’t even know who this Dean is, not really. If his problem was something normal, even just their warped sense of ‘normal,’ then maybe. Maybe he would say, or maybe he wouldn’t, because Dean was still emotionally stunted and closed off, albeit more so in 2006 than now. That aside, his problem _ wasn’t _ normal. It was fucking crazy, and terrifying, and it left him with no idea of what to do.

Maybe he should. Maybe he _ could. _

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, his phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out, glancing at the caller ID. It read ‘Unknown Number ;).’ With a _ winky face. _ There was really only one asshole he could think of that would add a _ wink _ to his unknown caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Dean, it's Gabriel. So, uh, we might have a problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second chapter within the week can we get a hell yeah!!!!
> 
> im planning on different chapters focusing on different deans, so next one is going to be Young Dean. lets see which dean can figure it out first >:3
> 
> also another note that is absolutely crucial: chapters 1 and 2 together make 6969 words. that is all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the future, nothing makes sense.
> 
> Another familiar face shows up, and they're finally getting to the bottom of things, but Dean quickly realizes he has no idea who he is in this time. He's not sure if he's ever known.
> 
> Alternatively: Dean Winchester Has A Crisis

The first thing he figured out about the bunker was that it really was huge, and very self-serving. Dean had already seen the library, and the supposed living room, but only later discovered the kitchen and other rooms filled to the brim with books and drawers. Really, the entire place was like a live-in library, and when he commented such to Sam, his brother had only kind of shrugged and nodded.

However, the most alarming by far was the kid.

When he walked into the kitchen where Dean and Sam had been awkwardly dancing around each other, Dean immediately looked to Sam for an answer. “Shit,” the taller man muttered, meeting eyes with the boy. He opened his mouth to speak, but he wasn’t fast enough, and the kid spoke up, “Hi. Um, I was told that… Dad… wasn’t feeling well.” He spoke carefully, deliberately, and looked at Sam when he said ‘dad,’ whose face paled almost immediately. “It’s still okay to say that, right? Dad?”

For a moment Sam looked like he was unable to speak, but when he finally managed sound, he said, “You know, um. Uh. I need to talk to you real fast. Outside.” He nodded and smiled politely at Dean as he took the boy’s arm and led him out abruptly.

What the fuck?

Dean didn't really know what to do, then, but wait for them to come back. Reasonably he knew a lot could happen in a decade, but _ seeing _ it all right in front of him just left him dazed and confused. He didn't really know any of these people, except the Trickster - _ Gabriel_, actually, because why the hell not - and even then, he didn't _ know _ him. He still didn’t totally understand why the guy was still around. (But then, he remembered his behavior, and felt a little guilty. Maybe that’s why.)

The two returned, Sam’s previous grip on the kid’s arm now absent, and Dean was a little taken aback by the way the boy looked at him. He didn’t try to hide his confusion or curiosity at _ all. _ It was a little unnerving, if he were to be honest.

“So, you gonna introduce me to this one, too?” Dean asked his brother, gesturing vaguely at the kid in front of him. Sam nodded a bit awkwardly, glancing between the two.

“This is - this is Jack. He’s, um… well, he’s - he’s the kid of an angel, and a - a human,” Sam managed, his smile wide, strained, and completely fake.

That got Dean’s attention, and he looked at him in surprise. “Of an angel? Which one? Angels can _ do _ that?” he asked, and immediately, all the color drained from Sam’s face. “What? Something on my face?” Dean cracked a little joke, maybe if only to make Sam look less like Dean had just died right in front of him or something.

Sam swallowed, bit his lip, then nodded as he spoke, “Lucifer. His - he was… born from Lucifer.” At that, Jack looked away, his expression remorseful.

Dean looked between them for a moment, slightly confused at how upset the two looked; of course he knew Lucifer was Satan, but the magnitude of their reactions didn’t totally click. “Satan birthed _ that _ kid? Seriously?” he spoke up, and Sam stared at him in surprise.

“Y-You don’t… y’know… _ care? _ It - does it not matter?” Sam asked hesitantly, tripping over his words.

“I mean, kinda freaky imagining the Devil gettin’ it on, but, no, not really. Kid seems nice. Why?”

Sam held that confused gaze for a moment longer before shaking his head. “Uh - it’s nothing. Listen, it’s - you know, it’s nice that you’re, uh, fitting in, but we should really keep looking for a way to send you back,” he stated.

“Yeah, guess so. It's weird - I'm kinda gettin’ used to this place. Pretty sweet. Would love to have shit like this in my time,” Dean nodded along as he spoke, eyes moving about the room. 

In front of him, Sam shifted on his feet impatiently, his mouth turning to a thin line, and he spoke up, “Yes, well, it's - you know, it is a good place. But we really have to start looking, so…” He pointed toward the hallway with a thumb, and Dean groaned at the thought of inevitably doing a lot of research, but he gave in and moved in that direction.

“Should I go too?” Jack asked, and Sam stopped to answer, thinking it over briefly before shaking his head.

“Stay with Cas and Gabe in the library, okay? I'll be back there soon. Promise.”

“Okay,” the kid agreed without complaint, and the two began walking off in different directions. Sam caught up to Dean fairly quickly.

After a short while, Sam stopped in front of a room, Dean following suit. He opened it and flipped on the lights, revealing a slightly long storage filled with bookshelves, file cabinets, and what appeared to be wooden dressers with items Dean couldn't really discern on them.

Sam clapped his hands and, without looking back at Dean, explained, “This room has information on magic. Mostly witchy stuff. Don't touch the stuff on the walls, those are for spells. Everything's alphabetical and categorized.” He went on further to explain the categorization and the order, but quite frankly, Dean was restless and half this shit he didn't understand anyway, so he didn't really pay attention. “Got it?”

“Yup. I'm like a scholar on this crap now. Spellcasting, here I go,” Dean said with a smirk and began walking over to one of the filing cabinets.

It was labelled ‘Ingredients & Origins.’

“Yeah?” Sam challenged, his tone light, and when Dean begrudgingly looked back at him, he was grinning. It reminded him of _ his Sam, _ all snark and annoyance, and he could feel his chest ache with loneliness. Although, it’s not really his chest right now, is it? His, but not _ his. _ Thinking about it too much felt weird.

Dean shook his head and moved back, surveying the other file cabinets until he spotted the correct one. “Ah. Bingo,” he said to himself with a small smile and popped it open, leafing through the contents. In all honesty, he wasn’t actually sure what he was looking for exactly, but he figured that he’d know it when he saw it. Most of that stuff was for more minor things; curing wounds, summonings, familiars, the like. Nothing really screamed ‘time travel’ to him. 

Then again, he was completely out of his depth here. Really, Dean was shocked the witch bullshit wasn’t freaking him out more. Probably the whole thing about travelling over a decade into the future, meeting two angels, and apparently the son of Satan. After all that, he couldn’t really be bothered to feel shocked anymore.

Dean let out a sigh and pushed the cabinet shut, turning back around to face Sam, who was currently reading through an old-looking book. “I got nada. How’s it going with you, find anything?” he asked, walking over.

After a moment, Sam looked up from the book and shook his head. “No, nothing yet. I don’t think these witches messed with time very much.”

In response, Dean laughed a little. “Damn. The one time that hoodoo shit would be useful.” He shifted on his feet and moved one hand up to his face and around his mouth, pulling it downward in exasperation. “So, what do we do now? I mean - witchy crap got us nowhere. Your angel friends are low on battery. What… what else is there to _ do, _ man? I - I got nothing.”

Sam held his gaze but didn’t respond, expression just as downcast as his own. Then his eyes fell and he shook his head, and when he glanced up his eyes held a little fire to them. “We keep trying, that’s what. We’ll find a way. We always do.” He still looked solemn, but it wasn’t despairing.

Damn it, when had Sam become so motivational?

“Alright. Keep trying, then. Sounds like a plan,” Dean hesitantly agreed. Truth be told, he still had no idea where to start. But they’d try again, which was good enough.

Then, a loud boom rocked the building, and the lights flickered before going out completely.

Suddenly the room was basked in red light as Sam pushed past him in a hurry, and Dean quickly regained his composure and followed after him. The hallways were the same, all a foreboding red. The noise continued, and as the two brothers rushed through the hallway, Dean could see symbols on the walls burning up and vanishing.

They reached the library fairly quickly to see the other three equally as confused. Castiel held a silver blade in one hand, the other in front of Jack protectively. Behind them, Gabriel looked like he was going to pass out. Apparently Sam noticed him at the same time, as he immediately shifted over to his side and took one of the angel’s hands in his own. It was… a strange sight to see, Dean thought.

Then, the noise stopped, and after a moment, the lights turned back to normal. Dean turned to look at Sam as if hoping for an explanation, but it was clear he didn’t have one. He turned back just in time to see the front door fly open.

And in walked Gabriel.

Actually, no - that was the Trickster, or at least, Trickster-era Gabriel, as he looked just the way Dean remembered him, though now in different clothing. Less janitorial. Dean didn’t bother glancing back to gauge the others’ responses, particularly as the archangel started casually walking down the stairs toward them.

“What the hell?” Dean muttered.

Gabriel - the Trickster? it was all so confusing, now - sauntered forward, stopping a few good strides away from the group. “Nice digs. Seriously, you boys really got an upgrade.”

“Gabriel?” Sam said softly from behind him, and God, Dean did _ not _ want to think about it.

The archangel surveyed the room, and he looked a little surprised at Castiel (who, Dean noted, no longer seemed to be holding a blade), confused upon seeing Jack, but his expression completely fell when he met eyes with his future self. He seemed to tense up then, and the silence felt suffocating.

So Dean spoke up. “What… what are _ you _ doing here?” His tone was a smidge more accusatory than intended, but he didn't feel too bad about it. It broke Gabriel’s staring contest with himself and he looked back at Dean. His eyebrows rose as he smirked at him.

“Glad you asked, Dean-o. ‘Cause… you are. Well, more accurately… older you.” 

The realization settled in, then. He never really considered the fact that he'd swapped places with his future self - even being in his body, he'd kind of chalked that up to a rule of time travel that he didn't understand.

He didn't get a chance to respond, though, as Gabriel continued, “Now, originally I just hopped on over here to pick this one up, or at least figure something out, but…” He paused, glancing back at himself. “I'm intrigued now. What kind of future is this, where you're butt-buddies with some soldier angel and… and _ that's _here?” Gabriel gestured vaguely at Future Gabriel, who frowned.

“Some - some _soldier_ _angel?_ Are you - do you mean Cas?” Sam asked in bewilderment, but the angel in question didn't look very shocked.

“Cas?” Gabriel asked incredulously, then let out a low whistle. “Damn, little bro, you're _ whipped _for these assholes, huh?”

There was no way Dean was going to get in the middle of this one, no way. He stepped back a little and glanced over at Castiel, who seemed only mildly inconvenienced by it. “_You _ don’t get to call me ‘little bro.’ Not yet. Now, since you seem to be so capable, why don’t you fix Dean and go back to your own time, _ brother? _”

Gabriel looked a bit surprised at Castiel’s response, but he smiled. “Huh. Maybe they’ve been a good influence on you,” he said quietly. Then, he clapped his hands and began forward. “Alrighty. Let’s go.” Dean snapped up then, his eyes darting between Gabriel and Sam, before he slowly moved forward to meet the archangel. “Ready?” Gabriel asked quietly, and he nodded, looking back at Sam.

Gabriel lifted his fingers to Dean’s temple, held still for a moment, and nothing happened.

Quickly the archangel’s hand dropped and he appeared panicked all of a sudden. “What the hell?” Gabriel said quietly, looking down at his hand, then back at Dean.

“What? What’s the problem?” Dean asked impatiently. Gabriel refused to meet his eyes then, staring down at the floor.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly.

Dean threw up his hands in irritation. “What do you _ mean _ you don’t know?”

“I don’t know!” Gabriel yelled back.

As soon as he did, Dean heard a whimper from behind him and turned back to see Future Gabriel’s face buried in the chest of a very concerned-looking Sam. He was shaking, his fists balled up in Sam’s shirt, and Sam carefully raised up a hand to the man’s head, running it through his hair gently. “It’s okay, Gabe,” he said quietly, his eyes locked on the other Gabriel. “He isn’t here. He’s not. I promise.”

Dean’s head was spinning, watching the two interact. It was all so confusing, and weird, and _ is Sam into dudes? _ If he was, then… would he…? _ Not the time. It is absolutely not the time. _

Beside him, Gabriel looked just as shocked, but likely for different reasons. He was watching himself and Sam, chest heaving from emotion, and Dean swore he could feel something in the air around him, like static. “...What happens to me?” he asked quietly. Sam and Castiel shared an apprehensive glance, but the hunter didn't release his hold on Future Gabriel.

“I - I don't, um - I don't think we should… say,” Sam managed. He and Gabriel maintained a somewhat uncomfortable-looking gaze for a moment before Gabriel broke away to stare at the floor, running a hand over his face.

“Right. Probably… yeah, probably right,” the archangel sighed, and for a moment, silence.

Then, he looked up again, having seemingly recovered from the moment prior. “Okay, I got one more question. Who, and… well, I guess _ what _, is that?” he asked, eyes on Jack. Again, Sam had the same nervous expression he'd had when Dean asked, but Castiel looked rather unbothered.

“Jack. His name is Jack, and he's the son of Kelly Kline, a good human woman, and Lucifer.”

“I - I'm sorry, what? Is this - are you joking?” Gabriel asked with a laugh, but his smile dropped when he realized they were truly serious. “...Okay, what - what's up with that? Last I checked, Lucifer was in the Cage. You know, rotting. How'd he spawn a Nephilim?”

Dean spoke up then, confused. “The Cage? What’s that?”

“It's like a - an angelic prison, kind of,” Sam explained. “God made it to hold Lucifer when he fell from Heaven. And… until about seven years ago, he was in it.”

Gabriel cocked an eyebrow. “What happened? Why'd he get out? How has the world not _ imploded _by now?”

Sam sighed, pursed his lips, then spoke again, voice low, “I opened the Cage. Demons started breaking the Seals, and - and we tried to stop it, but… I killed Lillith. And Lucifer got out, and… a lot happened, alright? The angels first appeared to us, then - they wanted me and Dean to be the vessels, but we said no. You… _ you _ wanted us to be, too, ‘cuz… you were just tired of it. And then Lucifer - we thought he killed you, and then a lot of shit went down, and he possessed me and Michael - Michael possessed our, uh, our half-brother, Adam, and we were both in the Cage for a long time because you told us how to seal it, until Cas got me out. And… and Lucifer got out too, again. It's… God, it's really been a fucking uphill battle.” 

Sam laughed dryly, suddenly looking so exhausted even though all he did was recall it, and Dean suddenly felt terrified. Just the thought of all of that being in his future was enough to make his stomach churn with fear.

Gabriel looked at Sam a little differently then - not with pity, really, but understanding. He looked ready to speak before being cut off by his future self.

“You... dropped and hid,” he stated matter-of-factly. “You let them take all the hits for what your shithole brother did, because you were scared. That's why I'm like this.” He relaxed back onto Sam, but his gaze remained guarded.

In front of him, Gabriel looked a bit affronted, but then his shoulders slumped a little. “Okay, yeah. Sounds about right. I - I'm sorry, alright? But - for now, can we focus on fixing the Dean mix-up?”

To this Dean agreed, nodding. “Yeah, I'm with that guy. Can we figure out what happened to me? Please?”

“Yeah, alright,” Sam said quietly. “We need to figure out the thing that made you time travel. And if it wasn't an angel or anything, then it's either some other creature, or a cursed object. You didn't touch anything in your time, right?”

“No, nothin’. Before I appeared here, me and Sam drove to some motel in Nevada, crashed there, and went to sleep. When I woke up, I was in this place,” Dean explained.

“I remember seeing Dean - _ our _ Dean - before he went to his room to sleep last night as well,” Castiel added. “Which means the swap happened while both were asleep.”

“Okay, so something that works with - with, uh, sleep, or dreams. It can't be djinn, because those don't mess with the waking world. So… do you know of anything that affects sleep, Cas?” Sam asked the angel, who appeared to be deep in thought.

Future Gabriel answered, “What about the Seven Sleepers?”

Both Sam and Castiel looked over at him. The other Gabriel’s eyes widened a little, and he nodded in agreement. “The what?” Dean asked.

“The Seven Sleepers of Ephesus. In the lore, they were seven worshippers of God in Rome, back before they thought Christianity was all the rage, and they were persecuted for their beliefs. To combat that, they sealed themselves up in a cave, slept, and left the cave 300 years later,” Gabriel explained. Past Gabriel. Maybe it’d be easier referring to them like that, Dean thought, even if the past one is his present... _ God, time travel is confusing. _

Future Gabriel bounced off of that, replying, “In truth, that’s _ kind of _ what happened. Really, the cave was reopened during their rest, and they were all slaughtered. For some reason, their spirits didn’t awaken until 300 years afterward, and they didn’t realize their mortality until they’d been revered by the emperor for proving resurrection. After that, they became vengeful, and would mess with time by sending people in their sleep however many years into the future; usually non-believers and pagans. At first, it would be so far ahead they’d be on their deathbed, and they’d die in the future, but as time went on and they grew weaker, the gap became smaller.”

“...And that’s why they weren’t recognized for the longest time. Because they wouldn’t just send them forward in time, they’d swap them. People who claimed they’d been sent back in time would just be marked off as insane. And there wasn’t much proof, either - they could ‘predict’ the future, yeah, but then they were called fortune tellers. Not to mention, the Seven Sleepers were careful, and efficient. Since it all happened in their sleep, no one saw them do it. Especially in the time before cameras.” Past Gabriel paused and turned to Dean. “Did Sam go to sleep before or after you?”

He felt a deep pit in his stomach. “Before.”

The archangel clicked his teeth and nodded. “Yup, just what I thought. After Sammy went off to bed, there would be no one to see it happen. And your Dean - no one was with him when he went to bed, either, right?”

Castiel shook his head.

“So - so it’s the… the Seven Sleepers, yeah? What do we do about it? How can we fix them?” Sam interjected, a little desperate. His voice cracked a little, and Dean _ knew _ what that meant, and it hurt.

Past Gabriel gave him a Look; it was pity, and regret, and dismay all mixed together, and he didn’t even have to see Sam’s face to know how that affected him. “I don’t know yet. But I can at least go back and tell your Dean what the sitch is. Maybe we can find something out. Never know,” he tried to smile reassuringly, but the heavy mood of the group remained.

“...Okay. Well, I’m gonna roll.” Past Gabriel lifted his hand up, ready to snap, when suddenly Sam moved forward and spoke up, “Wait!”

The hand dropped slowly, and he looked at Sam in bewilderment. “What?”

Sam paused, face unreadable, then continued, “Can I talk to him?”

“...Huh?”

“Dean. My - my time Dean. Can I… talk to him?”

Past Gabriel faltered. “I… you mean… like on the phone?”

“Yeah. Y-Yeah, just - whatever works. I just want - I just _ need _ to talk to him. Please.”

There was another pause, and then Past Gabriel pulled out a phone - why an archangel had a cellphone, Dean wasn’t totally sure - and did… _ something _ with it, then hit the call button.

As it rang, Sam was waiting with bated breath.

He could only barely hear the voice on the other end, but when he did, it was a really weird feeling. It was _ his voice, _ actually his voice, but just slightly off like the speaker wasn’t used to it.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Dean, it’s Gabriel. So, uh, we might have a problem,” Past Gabriel spoke into the phone. On the other end, he heard a sigh. Then, a long pause.

“What is it? Wait, where are you right now?”

“Funny story, really. I’m in the future, actually, with you and the crew. Anyway, I think I figured out what happened. ‘I’ meaning me and myself. Also, your bro wants to chat.”

“What - okay, uh - let me talk to Sam. Please.”

“Sure thing, bucko.” He handed the phone over to Sam, who seemed almost too eager to take it.

“Dean?” he said quickly, eyes wide.

The other Dean sounded relieved when he replied, “Hey, Sammy. How you guys holdin’ up?”

Sam smiled, and it made Dean a little happy, yeah, but the whole situation was enough to dampen it. _ Whatever. Doesn’t matter. _

“Yeah. Yeah, we - we’re fine, Dean. It’s just… good to hear you’re okay. Seriously.”

Other Dean laughed a little, then said, “Don’t get sappy on me, Sam.” But it lacked any actual bite behind it. It sounded so different than the way Dean usually said it.

Because when he said it, he actually meant it. How much had he changed?

Then, he spoke again, but it was quieter. He wasn’t able to hear it, but Sam did, and he nodded, despite the gesture being effectively useless. “Here,” he said, then handed the phone over to Castiel, who looked a little surprised, but took it anyway.

“Hello, Dean,” he said into the phone.

On the other end, a sigh of relief. Then, he spoke again, “Hey, Cas. Weird not having you around.”

“...I-I’m sure.”

“C’mon, what’s that? ‘Hell yeah it is, Dean, I’m a fucking snack,’ that’s how you gotta respond.”

“You know, I’m fairly certain your past self is able to hear you.”

“Well, my past self can be jealous all he wants.” A pause. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, but it wasn’t quite enough. “Miss you.”

Dean could hear his heart hammering in his chest.

“Ah - you too,” Castiel responded, and Dean actively tried to avoid looking him in the face. “...I’m going to hang up now. Gabriel is going to go back and try to fix things. We’ll see you soon.”

“Okay. See you.”

“B-Bye, Dad!” Jack said quickly, before Castiel was able to hang up.

The line went dead, but Dean’s head felt like it was on fire. He barely heard as Past Gabriel talked to them again, only snapping out of his trance when Sam called his name. “Dean?”

“Huh?”

“W-What’s - listen, Gabe is gonna travel back. So we gotta keep working on our end to figure something out, okay? Now that we know what to look for, it should be easier. You got it?” Sam told him, voice slightly stern, but likely only out of concern.

For a moment, Dean forgot to speak, then quickly replied, “Y-Yeah. Yeah, got it.”

“Alright. C’mon, let’s get started,” Sam started walking towards the shelves, and Dean vaguely heard a snap to his left, but he wasn’t paying much attention to anything. He couldn’t, really. Not after… _ all of that. _

Was his dad… really wrong, after all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey all! im not dead!  
sorry for the long wait between chapters, i am a fool who does not write in advance (mostly), and also school has been kicking my ASS. regardless, i hope this makes up for it!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still stuck in the past, Dean ends up having to go through with a hunt he barely remembers. However, all he can think about is how to get back and get out. His primary goal is to just get through the day, and maybe get back to his time.
> 
> He never has been that good at setting reasonable goals for himself.

There’s no way Sam could hear him talk to Gabriel. No way. Not now.

He gave his brother a sympathetic glance and, phone in hand, quickly left the motel room. Once safely outside and away from the room, he put the phone back up to his ear and hissed, “What is it?”

Then, he thought about it for a moment.

“Wait, where are you right now?”

Gabriel’s reply was preceded by a low whistle. “Funny story, really. I’m in the future, actually, with you and the crew.”

_ He can do that? _ Of course, it shouldn't be that much of a shock, but it kind of was. A genuine call from the future? He didn't expect to be able to do it.

“Anyway, I think I figured out what happened. ‘I’ meaning me and myself. Also, your bro wants to chat.”

His eyes widened slightly at that. Obviously it’d be a given that if he was in the future, and if he and his past self swapped, that Sam would be there. But the thought of actually talking to him…

Dean glanced back at the room to ensure This Sam wasn’t in earshot, then replied without much previous thought, “What - okay, uh - let me talk to Sam. Please.”

“Sure thing, bucko,” Gabriel said, and then there was a pause, and he heard a bit of shuffling on the other end. Waiting - even just a few _ seconds _ \- felt torturous. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed his brother. Then, a voice.

“Dean?”

Relief washed over him, and he let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Hey, Sammy. How you guys holdin’ up?” he asked. Preoccupied in the past, he hadn’t realized just how lonely he actually was. And cut-off. He’s completely unaware of the future, now.

When Sam replied, his voice was slightly shaky, and he butchered his words, but he sounded… not quite happy, but definitely not sad. A good feeling, and that was enough. “Yeah. Yeah, we - we’re fine, Dean. It’s just… good to hear you’re okay. Seriously.”

To that he laughed, light and muted. He spoke gently, next, tone betraying the real meaning of his words, “Don’t get sappy on me, Sam.”

Right now, all he really wanted was for Sam to be his stupid sappy self.

There was a lull in the conversation, and he paused, thinking something over. Quickly, Dean glanced back at the motel room, then he murmured into the phone, “Cas is there, right? Can I talk to him?” _ Please. _

For a moment, quiet; then he heard Sam say “Here” in a muffled voice due to the phone, and another long pause.

When he heard his voice, he could feel his heart skip a beat, like he was a crushing teenager.

“Hello, Dean.”

He let out a sigh of relief without even thinking, a smile finding its way on his face. “Hey, Cas. Weird not having you around,” he said, tone softening.

There was a brief pause, then Cas replied, somewhat nervously, “I-I’m sure.”

Dean felt a swell of emotions at that. He never really forgave himself for all the times he’d made Cas feel unwanted, or like a bother, because that simply wasn’t true. He relied on Cas much more than even he realized sometimes. He needed him. Knowing it was his fault that Cas sounded so uncertain… quite frankly, it made him feel sick.

But he wasn’t going to say all that. He never really did say all of what he actually felt. Old habits die hard, or something like that. Instead, he made a joke - somewhat. “C’mon, what’s that? ‘Hell yeah it is Dean, I’m a fucking snack,’ that’s how you gotta respond.”

“You know, I’m fairly certain your past self is able to hear you,” Cas replied, with his typical tired-sounding tone, but - and maybe Dean was just projecting - he was pretty sure he heard some fondness there too. It made him smile a little more.

“Well, my past self can be jealous all he wants,” he declared. Then he paused, and the confident demeanor dropped. There was so much he wanted to tell the angel - although, that’s just a constant. Always something left unsaid. He was acutely aware he had a problem, but fixing it… he didn’t know where to start.

Quietly, he muttered into the phone, “Miss you.”

Cas didn’t reply immediately. Then, he spoke, and it was slightly choppy, but it was still warm and Dean knew that tone when he heard it; that Cas, too, had things he left unsaid, things he wanted to say but Dean knew he couldn’t - especially now, with everyone listening in and his younger self ever present. “Ah - you too.” Another long pause, giving both somewhat of a bittersweet respite.

Then, Cas spoke again. “I’m going to hang up now. Gabriel is going to go back and try to fix things. We’ll see you soon.” He was deliberate with his words, and Dean could tell the intent behind them. They _ will _ see each other soon.

And when he replied, it was over. “Okay.” He would be alone again, aside from Gabriel, trapped in his past. “See you soon.”

But before that, before the phone went silent, he heard a little voice yell into the phone. “B-Bye, Dad!”

Jack. Of course, Jack. He’d have to get back for him, too.

And then the line went dead.

He dropped his arm down to his side, phone still hanging uselessly in his grasp, and for a moment he stared off at the sky, unsure of what to do. It was still dark out. Actually, he wasn’t sure what time it was, so he glanced at his old BlackBerry again. 

1:21 am. Christ.

Dean sighed, rubbed a hand over his face, and pocketed the phone. There was still so much left open-ended. They hadn't even told him what they'd figured out, and he had to deal with This Sam. Actually, he'd probably end up having to do that Jackpot hunt before he got back. He steeled himself, then entered the room once more.

“Who was that?” Sam asked almost immediately. _ Great. _

“Old friend of Dad's,” Dean replied quickly. It almost shocked him how easily he came up with a lie. “Hunter. Needed advice on taking down a werewolf.” Then, before Sam could say anything, “They don't need our help, though.”

Sam seemed to accept that, though his gaze was still uncertain. “Alright. Well, uh, I'm gonna get some sleep. You should rest too, Dean,” he chided, then turned around in his bed and got settled.

He was right. After everything, Dean definitely needed to sleep. Hell, it might even fix everything, who knows? He kicked off his shoes and laid down, trying to get as comfortable as he could in the subpar motel bed. He never realized just how well the bunker had been treating him until he tried to rest on some 40-a-day cheap ass motel mattress. Regardless… He closed his eyes and drifted off.

He woke up that morning in the same shitty motel bed in 2006, only now he was starfished on it.

Dean groaned and sat up, wiping the dried drool off his face. He blinked his eyes open and looked around; Sam was already up, taking something out of the little microwave. His brother turned and noticed him, then snorted. “You have a good night, Sleeping Beauty?”

“Shuddup,” Dean mumbled, pulling the sheets off of himself. He stretched his arms and then got out of the bed, making his way to the bathroom. Seeing his young face still threw him for a loop, but he tried to ignore it, splashing water on it instead. He dried it off, then took the toothbrush he guessed was his and started brushing his teeth. His mind wandered, but not very far. He just wanted to know what they figured out, and how he should contact Gabriel again. Or would the archangel contact him first? He didn't really know.

He spat out into the sink and washed out his mouth with some water, then dried off and left the bathroom. Sam had already finished his makeshift breakfast, though Dean could feel the hunger in his stomach. When was the last time he’d eaten..?

“Hey, you got any more of that?” Dean asked, and Sam looked at him like he’d just grown a third ear. “What?”

“You want my vegetarian breakfast scramble? Really?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“_That’s _what that - actually, nevermind, we’re just gonna stop at a diner,” he grinned and nodded, though Sam looked displeased. The two got their things together, shoes and jackets on, checked out of the motel, and then got on the road. This time, Dean drove.

Just as promised, he pulled into the nearest diner, and they stepped inside, Dean already looking thrilled. They sat down at a booth and took out the menus from the side, and within moments a young waitress made her way to them, pen and paper in hand. “Heya boys. What can I get you to drink?”

“Water,” Sam said with a somewhat awkward smile and a nod.

Dean set down the menu, clapping his hands. “I will have a coffee. With cream, please and thank you.” He flashed the waitress a charming smile, and she grinned back, writing down their drinks.

“Okay, sure thing. I’ll get those right out.” She pocketed her notepad and began to walk away, though not before winking at Dean.

“Dude,” Sam said, deadpan.

“What? I’m hot stuff, you know,” Dean smirked, though it was mostly to keep up an act. He wasn’t intending to flirt with her, though she clearly was. It wasn’t like she was unattractive, just not his type. Thinking about it... her eyes were a shade of gold, weren’t they?

After a moment, she returned with their drinks, another dazzling smile on her face. She set them down and then pulled out her notepad once more. “You two boys ready to order?” she asked.

Sam and Dean shared a look, as if asking if the other was ready, and then Dean nodded and set down his menu. “Yeah, sure thing. I’ll get the, uh, triple meat breakfast platter, please,” he said, returning her smile. 

Sam gave him a Look, and then fidgeted in his seat and spoke up as well. “Um - I’d just like a side salad, thanks.” He nodded as he looked up to her, smiling awkwardly out of politeness, though Dean could've sworn he saw her falter for a moment at that, and the waitress clicked her pen closed and slipped it into her apron.

“Okay, we’ll get it right out for you,” she beamed, quickly turning on her heel and walking away.

Once she was gone, Sam affixed his gaze on Dean, looking somewhat tired. “So, I looked more into that house.” At Dean’s quizzical stare, the younger Winchester sighed and continued, “The one from the hunt. As it turns out, the latest victims hadn’t even properly bought it yet. They were renting; they weren’t fully moved in or unpacked, either.”

“So… the ghost got pissed at some squatters?” Dean asked dryly, dunking the creamer into his coffee.

“Yeah. That’s what I think, anyway. I also found some relatives of the deceased who live in town. We should question them,” Sam insisted. He looked serious, and despite his evident sleep deprivation, he seemed alive when discussing a case. That felt odd to Dean, considering, if his memory served, Sam had only just started begrudgingly hunting again for little over a year. Regardless, he tried not to dwell on it.

Dean took a quick swig of his coffee and nodded. “Alright. Uh, how about you talk to them and I’ll scout the house? I can drop you off there.”

“Um - I mean… yeah, sure. I guess,” Sam conceded. There was a brief moment of silence, but it was right then that the waitress returned, holding up a tray with their food. “Alrighty boys, I got the side salad,” she said cheerfully, placing it in front of Sam, “and the triple meat breakfast.” As before, she set that plate down in front of Dean. “Everything look okay? Is there anything else I can do for you two?”

Dean met her eyes with a matching smile, shaking his head. “No. No, we’re good, uh…” He glanced at her name tag, then paused. “...Gabby?” He looked back up and their eyes met again. They _ were _ gold. 

Before he could say anything else, Gabby laughed and winked. “Well, just let me know if you change your mind,” she called as she briskly walked away, but Dean could’ve sworn he heard her say his name. He turned back to face Sam, confusion evident on his features.

“What was that?” Sam asked incredulously.

Dean could only really shake his head, perplexed. “...Not sure. Uh… just eat your breakfast.” He himself picked up a fork and started half-heartedly picking at his plate, his brain far more active than his stomach.

Gabby. Gold eyes. No way that wasn’t…

But _ why? _

Dean paused, setting down his fork. “You know, um, actually, I think she did forget something. I’m gonna… One second, you just wait here, I’ll be right back,” he said to Sam, standing up before his brother could say anything in protest, and he quickly made his way to the employee door, shoving it open.

“Gabriel?” he called out. He moved swiftly around the kitchen and the staff room, but neither the ‘waitress’ nor the archangel himself were to be found. Actually, no one was back there, not even other cooking or wait staff. He groaned, making a second sweep of the area before the door inside the staff room suddenly shut behind him. Dean turned back to look at it - _ locked _\- and then swiveled back forward, gaze landing on the archangel in question. “Gabriel. What are you doing?”

“Hm? What am I doing? More like what are _ you _ doing? This is the staff room, you can’t just barge in!” Gabriel quipped back at him, but a smirk was ever-present on his face.

“Listen, what did you find out? About my whole situation?” Dean asked, ignoring the other man’s jokes.

He didn’t seem pleased, rolling his eyes before answering, “Yeah, yeah. We think it’s the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus. Kind of like vengeful sleep spirits. They send you forward in time while you’re asleep, swap you with a future version of yourself that’s also asleep, and then just hope you die in the future. Of course, that was mostly when they were newer and most powerful. Now, it’s just… small gaps. Like yours.”

“I wouldn’t call eleven years a ‘small gap,’” Dean protested, but that wasn’t the most pressing issue on his mind. “Okay, so they’re ghosts, right? Maybe pretty strong ones, but still ghosts. That means we can gank them. So how’d some sleepers from the Middle East end up in Nevada?”

“And _ that, _ is the $64 question. Right now? I have no clue. I’d assume a relic or a skeleton was brought here, but that begs the question of ‘why.’ Chances are, whoever brought it knew very well what they were doing.” Gabriel’s ‘explanation’ did little to clear anything up, but it did bring up something interesting.

“So you’re saying I was targeted? Why?” Dean asked, crossing his arms. Reasonably, he knew there was likely a long list of people who would pull something like this, but narrowing it down was the problem. The only thing he could honestly assume was that the person was from 2006.

“You tell me, Winchester. I’m sure you and your brother have already greatly pissed off some very powerful beings, so you figure it out. Anyway, that’s all we’ve got so far. If you need me again, just ring.” He waved dismissively, and the door unlocked behind Dean.

The hunter watched him for a moment, glancing back at the now-open door, then nodded. “...Alright. I’ll look into it. Hey, stay close, okay? Let me know if you plan to, uh, pop into the future again.”

Gabriel smiled, smug, then replied, “Don’t worry. I won’t.” There was the sound of wingbeats, and he was gone. Not unusual for the archangel, really.

With an exasperated sigh, Dean turned on his heel and left the room, only slightly more agitated than before. He made his way out of the employee area, and had he not known Gabriel was behind this place, he would’ve been still perturbed at the lack of staff. He made his way back to Sam, who was glancing at his phone. When he noticed Dean, he quickly readjusted himself and put the phone away, looking up at Dean expectantly. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, not a problem,” Dean lied, and he stared down at his food. It was likely a bit cold now, and thinking about it, he wasn’t even sure if it was real, by any means. Gabriel made it, right? No doubt he used grace. Was it an illusion, or..?

However, the rumble of his stomach was more pressing than this Gabriel’s trustworthiness, and he quickly dug in to the breakfast platter. Surprisingly enough, it was still mostly warm, and it did taste good, all things considered. He could feel Sam watching him, no doubt amused, but he didn’t really care. Once he’d finished stuffing his face, he pushed the plate back slightly, then nodded to Sam. 

“Okay. I’m ready to get out of here,” he announced and stood up. Sam gave him a confused stare, glancing between him and the table.

“Are you just… not gonna pay, or..?”

“Sure. Dine ‘n’ dash. Why not? Let’s go,” Dean answered quickly, already heading for the door. There was no way he was leaving his money here. He didn’t want to know what Gabriel would use it for.

Sam seemed unhappy with the decision, but he joined him anyway, and the two made their way back to the Impala. Dean slipped back into the driver’s seat, and Sam followed suit in shotgun, pulling out his phone almost as soon as he was seated.

“Okay, so, the family members live,” Sam showed him the phone and pointed, “here. And the house…” He paused, scrolling a bit away on the map, then turned it back to face Dean and pointed again, “here. You know how to get there?”

Dean thought for a moment, plotting out the directions in his head, then nodded, shifting the car back into reverse to pull out. “Yeah, got it. We’ll be there in no time,” he said with a grin, speeding off in the direction of the relatives.

It didn’t take very long to get there, what with the rather small size of Jackpot, and the car shuddered to a halt in front of the house. It looked somewhat old, and the yard was overgrown and unkempt. Sam made a face, then composed himself and nodded. “Okay. Call you when I’m done,” he affirmed as he exited the car.

“Sounds good,” Dean nodded as well, giving him a little thumbs-up. Sam rolled his eyes, but Dean didn’t miss the small smile on his face, and as the younger Winchester walked up the steps of the property, Dean drove away.

The house of the hour didn’t look much better.

He carefully sidestepped the police tape, prodding the door open with his knife. The interior of the house was actually pretty nice, other than the slight disarray. It had some expensive-looking furniture in it, a strange contrast to the rather drab exterior of the house. That tidbit alone felt a little off, so he made a note of it and continued on.

The upstairs was where he was really interested. As expected, the couple’s bedroom was taped off, but Dean avoided it easily. He stepped inside, then paused. The interior of the room was somewhat unexpected, especially considering the state of the downstairs. There was one queen-sized bed in the middle of the room, a dresser against one wall, and an old-looking TV propped up on it. And… that was it. There was nothing else.

His instincts told him _ something is wrong, something is wrong, _ and by now, he had mind enough to listen. Dean’s hand immediately went to his gun and he pulled it out, turning off the safety. He inspected the room further, moving a bit farther in, but as he did, he heard the tape from the door tear and fall and he spun around, gun pointed straight ahead.

In front of him stood a man with short, clean-cut black hair and grey eyes that seemed to stare directly _ into _ him. He was in a nice black suit, but he didn’t look comfortable in it. He didn’t look comfortable in his skin at all, really.

For a moment they held gazes with each other, Dean almost too intimidated to say anything, but then the man broke the silence. His voice held barely-concealed rage, and it was loud, but not in actual volume. “_You _ aren’t supposed to be here. You were supposed to say yes.”

At first, those words confused the hunter, but then… it clicked. It all made perfect, infuriating sense.

“Michael?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY HELLO I AM NOT DEAD!!!
> 
> i am. So so sorry for the huge hiatus on this. i havent given up on it, i promise!!! i fully intend to finish this story, partly for myself and my personal enjoyment and whatnot, and of course also for all of you!! school had been really kicking my ass the past few months, and then i got hyperfixated on something very different, so my brain has not really been giving me much juice to work on this. but dont worry, we're really getting into it now and i plan to work on it more now that, uh... we all have... more free time. technically.
> 
> anyway i hope you enjoy even if this is several months late!


End file.
